


Save your anaesthetic for the boy next door (the bruises remix)

by keerawa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Breathplay, Episode: s06e12 Like a Virgin, F/M, Guilt, M/M, Non-Explicit, Remix, Season/Series 06, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-30
Updated: 2011-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keerawa/pseuds/keerawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean pulled me out of Hell, I could tell he was hiding something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save your anaesthetic for the boy next door (the bruises remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Save your anaesthetic for the boy next door](https://archiveofourown.org/works/174164) by [rivkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivkat/pseuds/rivkat). 



When I woke up in the Panic Room after Dean got me out of Hell, the first thing I did was find my brother and pull him into a hug.  I let myself enjoy the feel of Dean’s arms around me, body-warmed chamois and the scent of bourbon, for a solid five-count.  Then I stepped back, looking him over.  My eyes snagged on a yellowing bruise on Dean’s throat.  I reached out and touched it gently.  “Rough hunt?” I asked.

Dean flinched away and jerked his head in a nod, eyes not meeting mine.

And I thought … I don’t know what I thought.  That someone got hurt.  That I should have been there.  That from now on I _would_ be there.  It took me a while to connect the dots. 

Cas spilled the beans about me walking around top-side for over a year with no soul.  He told me that I almost killed Bobby.  So I went to Bobby and apologized. 

He shrugged.  “Hell, boy, your Daddy tried to kill me three times, and he was only possessed one of them.” 

I thought, for a minute, that we’d be okay.  Until I asked Bobby if I did anything else I should know about.

“Let’s just say I crossed you off my Christmas list, and leave it at that,” Bobby said with a grimace, and walked away from me with a stiff back that warned me off the topic. 

There _was_ something else.  Something he couldn’t forgive me for.  Knowing Bobby like I do, I figured I must have done something to Dean.

So I went to talk to Dean.  I found him tinkering under the Impala’s hood.  Dean insisted there was nothing to talk about, nothing happened, and it wasn’t me, anyways.  I pushed hard, got in his face, told him I had to know.  It turned into a shouting match, our voices echoing off the wrecked cars.

“Fine,” Dean finally broke and snarled at me, “ _He_ let me get turned into a vampire, so I would lead him to the Alpha Vampire.  _He_ stood there, watched it bleed into my mouth.  And then _he_ let me go visit Lisa and Ben.”

It was like a punch to the solar plexus.  I gasped, tried to sit down on the Impala, missed and ended up sliding down her side.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “I didn’t bite them, but it was a close call. I shoved Ben into a wall on my way out.  Haven’t really been welcome in her house since then.”

“God, Dean, I … I’m so sorry.  So, so sorry.”

Dean looked down at me with this weird, concerned satisfaction, like he couldn’t decide whether to give me a hand up off of the ground or kick me while I was down there.  “Well, like I said, it wasn’t you.  And we are _done_ talking about this.”

I sat there until sunset, the Impala solid and cold behind me while I tried to make sense of it.  What had I been thinking?  How could I do that to Dean?  How could I even start to make it right?  There must be some way.  _Ubi jus ibi remedium_.  I just had to find it.  Eventually I stood up, dusted off my jeans, and headed inside.

As I caught sight of Dean sitting at the dinner table with Bobby, a dozen beer bottles between them, it occurred to me that Dean didn’t tell me about the vampire because I asked for the truth. He told me to make me _stop asking._ He told me about the vampire because there’s something worse that he doesn’t want to talk about.

I was in a motel shower a week later when I got a hard-on, for the first time since coming back. I reached down and wrapped a hand around myself, falling back on familiar memories of that crazy long weekend when Jess decided we should each make a list of our favorite fantasies and then work through them alphabetically. ‘B’ turned out to be a winner. Jess wore a pleased smirk and a turtleneck for the entire next week, to hide the bruises on her throat.

I flashed on the yellowing bruise on Dean’s throat; the way he flinched away when I touched it. Fuck. Oh fuck, no. One more memory, of that last fight before I killed Lilith. Dean called me a monster and I threw him through a wall. The fight ended with me straddling Dean on the floor, choking him out, full of rage and demon blood and a strange, coiling heat that had me blindingly hard. I walked away from Dean after that fight thinking I’d never see him again. Thinking he was right about me being a monster.

He must have pissed me off, not that – I’ve always resented that Dean gives strangers a piece of himself I’d never – Without a soul to – Once I realized that Dean would never leave me, no matter what I did to him –  
I punched the shower wall.

“Sam, you okay?” Dean yelled, alarmed, from the other side of the bathroom door.

“Yeah,” I managed, staring at the shattered tiles, one more thing I’ve broken that I won’t be able to fix. I finished up my shower and walked out in a towel. Dean channel-surfed and pretended not to watch me with his peripheral vision. I got dressed between the beds like always. Dean sprawled out further on his bed, flagrantly relaxed, when I stepped within arm’s reach of him. He always did tend to over-sell a lie. I sat down on my bed and looked at him until he clicked the TV off and turned to me with a sigh.

“What?” Dean said tiredly, noticing but not mentioning my bloody knuckles.

“Did I … do anything to you, before I got my soul back?”

Dean denied it. He says we’re good. He pretends that we are, and so do I. I watch for some sign that he wants me to leave, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. And it’s his choice to make. As the ... not the victim. That’s not a word that will ever apply to Dean. As the _wronged party_ , he gets to decide how we handle this.

Dean has to remember it. I just have to wonder. To spend hours in the car looking down at the big, strong hands clenched in my lap, and wonder what they did to him. Where else he was bruised. Torn. Bleeding. If I waited until he was drunk or attacked him in his sleep. Did I use restraints? A weapon? Threaten people he cared about? Worst-case scenarios spin through my imagination.

I hope it was just the one time. Probably once was enough to drive Dean to, not to put me down like a rabid dog the way he should have, but to make a deal with Death to bring my soul back so I wouldn’t do it again.

I thought, when I fell into the Cage with Lucifer, that I’d finally made up for all my mistakes. When I woke up in Bobby’s Panic Room, I hoped that I could start again with a clean slate. Turns out there’s no such thing.

At least I don’t have to remember liking it.


End file.
